


Every Nickname Has a Reason

by MonsterTesk



Series: Apparel [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Biting, Dirty Talk, M/M, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-13
Updated: 2014-01-13
Packaged: 2018-01-08 13:55:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1133422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MonsterTesk/pseuds/MonsterTesk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Every nickname has a reason and when Chris finds out why Stiles calls Derek, "Big guy" he's less than happy about it. Stiles knows just how to make him feel better.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Every Nickname Has a Reason

**Author's Note:**

> So at its conception this was supposed to be a fluff thing that made people laugh but I honestly just didn't want to do it that way. Now it's basically just porn with a weak excuse for existing. Not like porn needs an excuse to exist, though. 
> 
> I was serious about this 'verse being open for prompts. Any takers?

_Chris is picking_ the water chestnuts out of Stiles’ chow mien while he thinks Stiles isn’t looking. He is. Stiles just doesn’t mind because while he likes them, Chris loves them.

Erica, with Stiles’ help, is telling Danny and Lydia how she broke his Jeep trying to help him change the battery.

Danny laughs, bite of the sweet and sour pork in his mouth.

“Oh man,” Danny says, swallowing. “That’s just hilarious.”

Erica smirks, eyes dancing while she sips her lemonade.

“How did the entire tool kit end up in the tree?” Derek asks, a look on his face like he’s rethinking his decision to bite Erica. Danny shakes his head and clicks his chopsticks at Derek. Stiles smiles to himself. In part because of Danny’s serious face and in part because Chris is slowly grazing his toes against Stiles’ leg under the table.

“Woah there, Miguel. Don’t question it or you’ll ruin the funny.”

Derek makes a face and opens his mouth to argue.

“But—”

Stiles cuts him off.

“You got to learn to accept the ridiculous, big guy,” Stiles says and steals a baby corn from Derek’s plate. Stiles stares at Derek who glares back as Stiles pops the corn into his mouth, smiling. Scott frowns.

“I get why Danny calls Derek Miguel but why do you call him big guy? Derek’s never been taller than you.”

Stiles swallows, refusing to let heat creep up into his face.

“You don’t want to know, dude. Trust me.”

Scott gives him his wounded puppy face.

“Come on, tell me.”

Stiles shakes his head no.

“Tell me.”

“No.”

Tell me.”

“No way.”

“Tellllll me. I’m your best friend. Tell me.”

“Low blow but no.”

“Tell me. Tell me. Tell me tell me tell me tellmetellmetellmetellmeeee.”

Stiles opens his mouth to say no again because he so does not want to explain the nickname at all. Not with everyone there to hear but Danny cuts him off.

“It’s because he has a big dick,” he says. Loudly. Stiles winces. Erica chokes on her dumpling. Everyone stops moving, eyes wide and shifting between Derek, Stiles, Chris, and Isaac like they’re expecting a tennis match to break out. Derek doesn’t move as if that will make him able to melt into nonexistence, a slightly constipated look on his face. Isaac clears his throat a little, takes a sip of his orange Fanta. Stiles tries hard not to look at Derek or Chris, suddenly enraptured by the noodles on his place.

“Dude. I should’ve listened to you,” Scott says, regret thick in his voice.

Stiles shakes his head, poking at his food with chopsticks.

“So,” Erica says, eyeing Derek. “How big are we talking about here?”

“Erica!” Scott whines, looking at her like she’s wounded him. She sighs.

“Fine. I won’t ask where you can hear. Happy?”

He gives her a small smile and Allison kisses her on the cheek in thanks.

Boyd, who’s been quiet through all of this, finally speaks.

“Someone pass the pork?”

Erica smirks and Lydia hands him the pork. It’s silent for a few seconds, everyone watching Boyd pour pork onto his plate. It’s Erica that breaks first with a snort. Then almost everyone is laughing. Except for Chris.

 

 

Stiles is playing Draw Something with Danny, laying in bed next to Chris while he does some accounting thing for his business later on that night. The house is theirs. Scott, Allison, and Erica are at Scott’s, presumably, and everyone else went home. Chris is being quiet, not that unusual but not all that common either. Stiles briefly wonders if they’ve become one of those weird old couples that have, like, a mortgage and ‘date nights,’ but no actual drama to speak of. Chris is acting like something’s bothering him but he hasn’t said anything yet which actually is unusual. Generally, Chris voices anything that bothers him from his still present distaste for Scott to some asshole he has to work with.

The silence is getting to Stiles.

He finishes his turn, sets his iPad on the nightstand, and turns to look at Chris. He’s frowning, stabbing numbers into a calculator with the back of his pencil. Stiles bites his lip, contemplates the best way to go about this.

He leans over as much as he can without aggravating his leg and lightly kisses Chris’ neck. Chris ignores him. Stiles scoots closer, lays another kiss on his neck. Still nothing.

Alright then. Stiles fingers the bend in Chris’ hip, stroking along the creases in his pajama pants, and kisses the spot below Chris’ ear like he knows Chris enjoys. Chris finally turns his head. He doesn’t set his things aside his things but progress is progress. Stiles smiles and makes a trail of kisses along Chris’ jaw until he gets near his lips. Chris kisses back.

Stiles makes a happy noise. Chris kisses him harder, one hand coming up to cup Stiles’ jaw while the other folds his accounts book closed and sets it aside. Stiles counts this as victory. After some nice kissing, Chris is always talkative.

Chris makes a noise that’s almost but not quite a growl and straddles Stiles, kissing him harder and harder.

Red flags go up in Stiles’ mind. Chris is almost never this aggressive.

Chris isn’t so much straddling Stiles now as carefully insinuating himself between Stiles’ legs, kissing him roughly. He grabs a handful of Stiles’ ass, tightening until it’s near painful when Stiles runs his hands up his back. He starts to kiss along Stiles’ jaw which, yeah, nice, but it’s a little off as well. What with there being more teeth than lips and everything. Stiles’ knee is starting to protest the way his legs are spread.

The red flags begin to wave frantically when Chris uses his handful of ass to yank Stiles up into his hips while he grinds into him harshly. That’s when Chris bites down on Stiles’ shoulder.

It’s not hard enough to make Stiles push Chris off of him but definitely hard enough for Stiles to let out a small whimper that’s stuck somewhere between pained and pleasured. Chris never does this. He’s never rough with Stiles. It’s as if he thinks he has to make up for things that were done to Stiles before they got together. Maybe Stiles doesn’t push him off because… he kind of wants it. It used to make him feel horrible just to admit that to himself but it’s true. Stiles sometimes likes it rough but Chris never is.

Except for now apparently.

Stiles digs his nails into Chris’ back as Chris runs his teeth up Stiles’ shoulder until he reaches Stiles’ neck. He bites down again, now hard enough to pinch Stiles’ skin painfully.

Stiles makes some kind of noise, hands moving before he has time to think, pushing Chris off of him. Chris leans back, still between Stiles’ legs, lips compressed and eyebrows drawn down. Stiles brings his right hand up to where Chris bit. It wasn’t bad, no, not if how hard Stiles is is anything to go by. Stiles liked it—a lot but it was too much… too much like Derek.

“What’s going on with you?” Stiles asks, hand involuntarily pressing down into the bite mark, making it throb under his palm. Chris’ hands twist at his sides like he’s trying not to fist them.

“Nothing.”

Stiles frowns and raises his eyebrows.

“Bullshit.”

Chris sighs, shaking his head while looking down. Stiles lets himself relax. He knows that gesture. That’s Chris’ I-don’t-want-to-share-because-I’m-embarrassed gesture. Stiles rubs Chris’ thigh with his left hand in a soothing motion. Chris relaxes a little.

“I know you like it… that way and I just wanted—” Chris starts then breaks off, now looking somewhere to the right of Stiles. His hands do fist now but it doesn’t seem to be in anger, Stiles tries to convince himself. He doesn’t particularly believe himself or Chris so he shakes his head.

“You’ve known that for a while. Why try that now, angel?”

Chris is silent for what feels like a long time but Stiles doesn’t try to prompt him again. He has patience. At least when it comes to Chris he does, anyway.

“I just thought you might… miss it,” Chris says softly, still not looking at Stiles who knows him well enough by now to understand he’s not just talking about rough sex. He doesn’t know what the other thing is but he knows there is another thing.

Stiles leans forward and cups Chris’ cheek in his hand, says softly, “Just because I like to be fucked rough doesn’t mean I’m not happy with what we have.”

Chris’ face takes on a pained expression and he leans into Stiles’ hand. Stiles takes a leap in logic and continues to speak in a soft voice.

“It doesn’t mean I miss… Derek.”

Chris stiffens so quickly that Stiles gets sympathy aches from watching which only proves that Stiles was right. Chris feels insecure about Stiles’ friendship with Derek. It’s still recent but it kind of makes Stiles happy not to have this doom-cloud of history come over him every time he sees Derek. He sees him a lot now. Derek comes over to the house or Stiles visits Erica or Isaac and Derek is there. It’s taken them a fucking long and awkward year to become mostly comfortable around each other again and Stiles has been selfish. He’d only been thinking about how this new friendship made him feel and not considering what it might look like to Chris.

Wow, Stiles really is an asshole.

“I don’t think that,” Chris says, eyes boring holes into Stiles’ as he says it. Stiles twitches his eyebrow without deciding to. Chris looks away, leans away from Stiles. “Not, not all of him but… You must miss _that_ ,” Chris says, eyes fixed on the bed. “I’m not exactly… impressive.”

“Wh—Oh,” Stiles says, finally getting it. “ _Oh._ ”

Stiles fights to keep his smile off his face.

“Oh, Chris. Come here,” he says and he knows there’s laughter in his eyes. He can’t help it. This whole thing is somewhat hilarious. Chris is feeling insecure because Derek has a bigger dick than him. That’s just… ridiculously stereotypical. Chris glares at Stiles but doesn’t move. He looks silly instead of intimidating; kneeling between Stiles’ legs wearing Storm Trooper pajamas and upset because his boyfriend thinks he’s being stupid.

Stiles grins because he can’t help it and beckons Chris closer. He doesn’t move. Stiles rolls his eyes.

“Don’t make me play the crippled card,” he says in a mock-warning voice. Chris starts to move so Stiles lays down, guiding Chris until he’s on top of him. Chris looks wary, as if waiting for Stiles to mock him. He’s not wrong. Eventually Stiles will tease him for this but that’s not right now.

Stiles cups Chris’ face and kisses him slowly, putting a lot of thought into it, making sure he does everything he knows Chris likes.

“I love your dick,” he breathes into Chris’ mouth. Chris tries to kiss him again but Stiles holds him back. “Do you know what I think about when I jerk off?” he asks. Chris shakes his head slowly; a suspicious look on his face but says nothing.

Stiles smiles at him, putting all the heat he can muster into the look, raising his left leg to rub against Chris.

“When I’m away or you’re gone, I touch myself and think about it. I think about your lovely cock,” Stiles says in a quiet voice. “I think about what it feels like when you fuck me.”

Chris closes his eyes and tries to duck his head but Stiles won’t let him, holds him in place with his hands on his head. Stiles is kind of loving this. He really enjoys talking dirty to Chris.

“I finger myself and pretend you’re watching me, waiting. I fantasize about you pushing your cock inside of me slowly. So slow it makes me mad,” he says and finally kisses Chris. He does that slow, too because he knows what that does to Chris. “I think about how your cock feels inside of me, filling me up, pressing in just right and I come with my fingers still in my ass and don’t want to stop. Lay there in my own jizz and fuck myself until my fingers hurt.”

Chris makes a small hurt noise and presses his hips against Stiles. He’s hard just from Stiles talking. Stiles feels a flash of pride at that, deciding then that he’s definitely going to call Chris the next time he does it. He’s rubbing his dick against Stiles. Their pajamas are too much and not enough of a barrier for it not to feel fucking brilliant.

“What about you? Do you ever think about fucking me, Chris? Ever think about putting that lovely cock inside of me?”

Chris’ mouth is parted, these even breathes coming out like he’s counting to ten in his head to keep himself from doing something, eyes half closed. Stiles twitches his hips up against Chris’ just to disrupt his breathing. Chris moves to press his face into Stiles’ shoulder and Stiles lets him.

“Yes,” he breathes out, pushing his hips harder against Stiles in almost jerky movements.

“Good,” Stiles says.

Stiles kisses the side of Chris’ head before leaning back, reaching for the lube in the nightstand. Chris is still moving against him but it’s gotten even more jerky like he’s trying to stop but can’t. Stiles opens the drawer and starts feeling around for the bottle. Chris lifts his head from Stiles’ neck, a frown on his face. Stiles kisses him so he doesn’t ask something that will ruin the surprise.

He pushes the bottle of lube against Chris’ chest while they kiss until Chris takes it from him, leaning all of his weight on his right arm. He’s frowning again, this confused look on his face like he doesn’t know what to do with it. Stiles doesn’t answer the question there, just starts pulling his pajama pants off. Chris sets the lube down and helps, probably defaulting to the familiar routine in his lack of certainty.

When the pants are on the floor and Chris is kneeling between his legs again, Stiles curls his fingers into the waistband of Chris’ pajamas.

“Take them off,” he more orders than asks. Chris complies. Stiles watches him sit back on his ass and pull them off. One of his feet get stuck so Stiles sits up and yanks them off of Chris because he wants to and also because watching Chris carefully pull them off so they don’t end up inside out is frustrating when he just wants Chris naked now.

Chris cuts his eyes to Stiles that confused look still pulling down his brow. Stiles smiles at him, picks up the bottle of lube, and lies back down.

“Come here,” Stiles says and Chris comes, automatically settling between Stiles’ spread legs.

“Hold out your hand.”

Chris does. Stiles pumps the nozzle until he’s satisfied with the amount on Chris’ fingers.

“Stiles, what—”

Stiles shushes him, hooks his good leg behind Chris and guides him close. He kisses Chris slowly again.

“I want you to finger me.”

Chris’ lips part in what looks to be an involuntary breath inwards that makes a small hissing noise.

“I want you to finger me and tell me what you think about. Tell me what you fantasize about. I want to hear it; hear you talk about fucking me.”

 Chris kisses Stiles in a soft explosion of movement, his hand already on Stiles’s ass, smearing lube between his crack and over his hole. Stiles’ hips tilt of their own volition, leg tightening where it’s wrapped around Chris. Stiles only breaks the kiss because he needs to push his head into the pillows behind them, Chris’ finger finally pushing into him. Automatically, his hands go to Chris’ shoulders. They don’t move, just hold on there.

He waits a little bit, just enjoying the feeling of being penetrated for the first time in a long, long while.

When he opens his eyes, Chris is staring down at him that amazed look he gets sometimes on his face. Stiles smiles at him. Chris brushes next to but doesn’t quite touch Stiles’ prostate. Stiles wriggles, tries to get that finger inside him to do that again. He cups the back of Chris’ neck and squeezes.

“Come on,” he says, voice more breathless than he thought it would be after just one finger. “Tell me about fucking me.”

Chris jaw works, his finger slowing down to an excruciating pace. Stiles twitches his hips, unable to stop himself.

“I—I think about it,” Chris says, voice soft and serious. He’s still looking at Stiles like Stiles is somehow a miracle and a trap.

“Yeah?” Stiles prompts. Chris nods, compressing his lips. Stiles realizes Chris is going to need more incentive to actually speak. Stiles is all about incentive. He wraps his fingers around his own cock and loosely strokes it. Chris’ breath hitches, eyes finally breaking away from Stiles’ face to look down between them. Stiles jerks his hips just once to see what Chris will do.

Then groans as Chris finally presses his finger right where he’s been wanting it. Chris scoots, half lays to the side, dick pressed into Stiles’ hip and looks down Stiles’ body.

“More,” Stiles demands, keeping his hand loose, relaxed, while it moves on his own dick.

Chris presses a kiss into Stiles’ shoulder.

“I think about how you feel around me,” he says in a quiet voice. Stiles nods, squeezes his ass around Chris’ finger. “I… God, Stiles. I do it all the time. Grocery shopping, working, making dinner, it doesn’t matter. All I can think about is—is fucking you. Especially when I’m driving for business. When I’m on the road for hours with nothing to distract me.”

Stiles nods, gripping himself tight now. Not moving his hand but just holding on because Chris’ finger is moving inside him in sharp, shallow thrusts that match the rhythm of his voice.

“Drives me crazy, I get so hard just thinking about fingering you, eating you out, and fucking you until you’re making those little noises, the ones you’re making now.”

Stiles’ mouth won’t shut anymore, cock abandoned as he reaches for Chris because he needs something to hold on to, something to keep him grounded because Chris, darling angel and absolute devil Chris, just went from one finger to three and is moving them so quickly that Stiles doesn’t even have time to adjust.

Chris rolls back on top of Stiles and kisses him hard. Stiles digs his fingers into Chris’ back and sucks Chris’ tongue into his mouth. Chris pulls his mouth away, starts talking again in that dangerously quiet voice of his.

“Sometimes when you’re sleeping, I watch you and wonder if I could ever make you scream by fucking you. I wonder if I could. I lay there, hard as a stone, in your arms and fantasize about your luscious ass and the feel of you pushing back, fucking yourself on my cock like you can’t stand for it not to be in you as much as possible.”

Stiles keens at that, nails scratching over Chris’ shoulder, hips jerking without his permission.

“Oh fuck. Fuck. Fuck me, Chris. Please. Shit, just—” Stiles cuts himself off with a moan because Chris just shoved his fingers so hard into Stiles that it actually hurt a little bit. Chris teethes his way down Stiles’ neck and Stiles is panting, wanting. Chris stops, mouth poised under the corner of Stiles’ jaw. Stiles moans and tries to rock onto Chris’ fingers but they just move with him, barely inside him.

“Please,” Stiles whines. “Chris, please. Fuck me. I need—”

Chris shoves his fingers into Stiles hard and bites down on his neck.

“Fuck!” Stiles shouts, whole body lurching. His dick is dribbling onto his stomach and this is perfect, wonderful. Feels so good but it’s not enough. Stiles barely contains a whimper when Chris removes his fingers and detaches his teeth from Stiles’ neck. He’s leaning over Stiles, reaching for something in the nightstand. Stiles grabs his hand when it comes back with a foil packet. Chris raises his eyebrows and Stiles shakes his head.

“Just you,” Stiles says softly, heart pounding. He doesn’t usually like it, going bareback. He doesn’t like the feel of come leaking out of his ass. It makes him feel dirty and used but… tonight—Tonight he wants it. Wants to feel Chris fucking him and then get to walk around with his come inside of him, dripping down his thighs.

He, shit, he wants Chris to use him, to fuck him hard and come inside of him like he’s Chris’ personal slut.

“Just you,” he repeats.

Chris nods and drops the condom. He settles between Stiles’ legs, cock purple and glistening against his stomach. Stiles reaches for it, leaning forward so he can guide it inside of him. Chris grabs his wrist right before it reaches Stiles’ target. Stiles looks up quick because his grip is tight enough it almost hurts.

There’s something hard in Chris’ eyes that makes Stiles shiver and remember just how dangerous Chris can be. Then his hand is pinned to the bed next to his head and Chris is pushing his dick inside of him slowly. So fucking slowly. Stiles groans, hooking his left leg behind Chris and tries to make him go faster. It doesn’t work so Stiles grabs at Chris’ hip with his free hand and yanks, frustrated because if he had two perfectly functional legs Chris could be fucking him from behind and be unable to stop Stiles from shoving him all the way in.

“Come on,” Stiles whines and rolls his hips. “More.”

Chris smiles at him, licks his lips, and leans down until he’s breathing into Stiles’ ear.

“I’ve fantasized about you begging me for it,” Chris whispers, voice dark. Stiles’ cock jerks.

“You want me to beg?” Stiles asks, voice a little angry and a little breathless. Chris has stopped moving, his dick just barely inside Stiles. “You want me to request you to kindly fuck me?”

Chris jerks his hips forward so quickly he’s balls deep in Stiles with no warning. Stiles’ breath catches, eyes going unfocussed.

“I wasn’t thinking about being too kind about it but yes,” Chris says, a steel in his voice that makes Stiles _want._ Stiles doesn’t say anything, isn’t even sure he can. They stay like that for a bit and then Chris starts to pull out slowly. So very fucking slowly. Stiles moans at the friction, now reconsidering his earlier option of not putting as much lube on Chris’ hand as he normally likes.

“Please,” he breathes out, voice half broken. Chris just continues pulling out so very, very slow.

“Please what?”

Stiles groans, digs his fingers into Chris’ skin over his hips.

“Fuck me, please. Chris just—fuck me.”

Chris smiles at Stiles and it’s wicked, teasing, and completely sexy.

“I am fucking you,” Chris says, voice lilting up. Stiles scratches his back in a form of petty revenge for that comment.

“No,” he says, voice angry. “Fuck me Chris. Hard. Shit, I want to _feel_ it. I want to feel your cock in me for days so fuck me. Please, Chris. Fuck. Me.”

Chris kisses Stiles quickly. It’s strangely chaste, a moment of sweetness. Then he rears back and fucks into Stiles hard enough to make Stiles hiss.

“Chrissssss. Yes, oh fuck. Yessss. Chris. Fuck me. _Oh._ _Harder._ ”

Chris complies, plowing into Stiles hard enough that it hurts, stretches and jostles Stiles in a way that makes his bad knee protest and his teeth ache from where he clenches them. He digs his nails into Chris’ back and holds on, only allowing grunts and hissed breath out form between his teeth.

That is, right up until Chris bites down on Stiles’ neck below his ear where he’s sensitive then sucks harshly around his teeth, pinches Stiles’ nipple hard between his fingers and twists, fucking into him so roughly he can feel himself sliding across the sheets from the force of it.

Stiles doesn’t so much scream Chris’ name when he comes as fucking wails it so loud his voice breaks off, hands flying up to brace himself on the headboard so he can shove his whole body down onto Chris’ dick as hard as he can.

Stiles moans when Chris slows down, body racked with a floating sensation. The room spins around Chris’ head, blacking out in spots. Stiles smiles up at Chris. His arms and legs feel like pool noodles, ass tingling around Chris’ cock. Stiles laughs, grin splitting his face and tries to wrap his arms around Chris. He feels giddy and light. He feels like a kite and his tether is Chris’ dick still hard inside him but unmoving. He pats Chris’ cheek.

“Why’d you stop, Angel?” Stiles asks. His voice sounds weird like maybe it’s slurred. Chris’ hips twitch. Stiles rolls his hips up into Chris, staring him in the eyes as he does. “I want you to come inside me. Can’t do that if you don’t fuck me,” Stiles says, fucking himself as much as he can on Chris’ cock.

Chris’ mouth parts and he begins to move again. His cheeks are red, eyes fixed on Stiles’ face as he braces his arms next to Stiles’ head. Stiles moans happily and pulls Chris down for a kiss.

“I want you to make a mess out of me,” Stiles says, his voice sounding amusingly wrecked to his own ears. “Want to feel your come inside of me, feel it drip down my thighs.”

Stiles runs his left hand over Chris’ back and the right one through his hair while he speaks. Chris just presses his face into Stiles’ neck while he fucks into him slowly, softly, like it’s painful for him. Stiles moans as Chris grazes his prostate again.

“Fuck, Chris,” he breathes softly. “I hope that I make you feel even a fraction of the pleasure this is bringing to me when I fuck you.”

Stiles whimpers and digs his fingers into Chris scalp and skin. It’s overwhelming, too much, just fucking right. Shit, he’d forgotten how much he loves being fucked after coming. Stiles is shaking, head thrown back, teeth pinching his lip painfully.

“You do,” Chris says, voice breaking. “Oh, you do, baby. Every time.”

He pulls on Chris’ head, stopping him from sucking on the bite mark he left earlier. Stiles looks down when he knows Chris is looking up at him.

“Say it again.”

Chris swallows, lips shining with spit, hips slowing to a near crawl.

“You do.”

Stiles shakes his head and tightens his grip on Chris’ hair until Chris winces. He should be gentler, he should be kinder about this but he feels so fucking scared and thrilled at the same time.

“No. Call me that again.”

Chris’ eyes shutter, cock stopping when it’s nearly out of Stiles. He says it slowly, like he’s testing it, tasting it. Stiles shudders and reaches his hands down to grip Chris’ hips, pulling him back in.

“Again,” Stiles demands, hands still pulling and pushing, making Chris move inside him.

“Baby.”

“Yessss,” Stiles hisses and lets go of Chris to throw his hands up above him. Chris starts to fuck Stiles slowly again. Stiles pushes himself down on Chris’ cock and stares Chris in the eyes.

“Baby,” Chris says again and Stiles shudders, pushing himself down onto Chris cock. Chris eyes widen, mouth dropping open. He pushes up onto his hands and stares down at Stiles, a look on his face Stiles doesn’t recognize.

“You like that?” Chris asks, more breath than voice. Stiles nods and licks his lips. Chris kisses him.

“Good. Cause you feel so nice, baby. So damn nice ah—around my cock,” Chris says, staring down at Stiles, and fucking into him in rolling motions. Stiles moans a little. He should have done that ages ago if it was what it took to get Chris to talk dirty. His voice alone could make Stiles come.

“Oh, baby. So good. I’m gonna come,” Chris croons and hangs his head, eyes still fixed on Stiles’. “You still want me to inside you, baby?”

“Ye-yes,” Stiles says, voice breaking badly over just one damn word, and wraps his arms around Chris until Chris is forced to go back down onto his elbows. Chris kisses him once, softly.

“I love you, baby,” he says, eyes fixed on Stiles’ lips. Stiles kisses him, holding him tightly, making it near impossible for him to move. He doesn’t want this to end, wants to stay like this forever. Chris’ movements become jerky, still slow, but definitely lacking the smoothness of earlier as he presses his face into Stiles’ shoulder.

He’s shaking and all the air leaves his lungs. Stiles knows he’s coming. He holds Chris close and pets his hair as he waits for Chris to come down.

When he pulls out, Stiles hisses at the sensation ass now throbbing in time with his heart beat. He aches all over but it’s a nice ache. Chris falls down next to Stiles. He’s breathing heavy. Stiles reaches for him and he comes readily, curling up against Stiles’ side.

Stiles kisses his forehead and runs his hand up and down Chris’ back.

"How much do you think it would horrify Scott if I thanked him tomorrow for this?" Stiles asks into the silence.

Chris snorts and slings an arm over Stiles' stomach.

"As amusing as that sounds, how about no."

Stiles looks down at Chris, fingers drawing random shapes into his back.

"Why? I thought you loved to make him feel uncomfortable."

Chris nods.

"I do," he says, propping himself up enough to look down at Stiles. "But I'd rather not give him credit."

Stiles grins slyly at that.

"Yeah, you're right," he says, pulling Chris back down. "The credit really belongs somewhere else and we both know how pissy Derek gets when someone steals his thunder."

Chris flicks Stiles' nipple.

"Ow," Stiles says, laughing at Chris' affronted face.

"Mister Stilinski, that was not funny."

Stiles grins and kisses him.

"No, not funny. It was the best fucking I've ever had."

Chris' face softens, becomes something more uncertain and less irritated.

"Yeah?" He asks quietly.

"Oh, yes, Mister Argent," Stiles says, wrapping his arms around Chris' shoulders. Chris kisses Stiles, a brief press of lips, turns out the light, and settles back down against Stiles' chest.

Stiles waits a long moment in the dark, counting to thirty in his head.

"You can tell Derek that, you know, it's not the size of the ship but the motion of the-- Ow! stop that! Those are sensitive..."

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm really kind of hoping someone gives me a promt for phone sex... I won't do it unless someone asks. 
> 
> I think I need a cigarette now. 'Scuse me.


End file.
